


Hues of Love

by Toruviel



Series: Luke and Vader stories [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Darth Vader's A+ parenting, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Imperial Luke Skywalker, Imperial Propaganda (Star Wars), In a way, Sith Luke Skywalker, War, sith in training anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27801178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toruviel/pseuds/Toruviel
Summary: "Wing Commander Skywalker."He saluted."Lord Vader."***Or: Luke goes to Imperial Academy and things spiral from there. A Sith Lord with no idea how to be a father, an imperial officer Luke with his own secrets, and a bond struggling to grow in the world of imperial intrigue.
Relationships: Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader
Series: Luke and Vader stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021596
Comments: 44
Kudos: 215





	1. Grey

**Author's Note:**

> Written because 'dying to atone' sounds noble, but we all know it's the easy way out. 
> 
> I've been reading and rereading "The New Sith Order" by Chi-chi-chimaera (gestalt1) and it reminded me why I love SW so much. The other inspiration was "Five Things That Never Happened to Luke Skywalker" by Corana. Go read them both if you haven't already, they are so good!
> 
> No beta, all mistakes are mine. Warnings for a propaganda-inspired world-view.

"Wing Commander Skywalker."

"Lord Vader."

He saluted smartly, making every effort to follow protocol and remain calm. He stood at attention, eyes straight ahead, and awaited his orders.

He _was_ here to receive some orders, wasn’t he? He felt no inviable grip around his neck, no shortage of air, he was just _fine_ , here to receive another order, nothing to be worried about… It _was_ a bit strange, but Lord Vader was known for eschewing the usual order of things when it suited him. He _could_ have some task for Luke, he and his men had proved themselves in recent battles, he _could_ be sent elsewhere, there was no indication that they _knew-_

"Commander Skywalker," Lord Vader stated rather abruptly, walking slowly around Luke, circling him. Luke forced himself to keep his position. "As I am sure you know, _the Executor_ is looking for talented crew members to swell our numbers after the recent battles. Your training and service record indicates that you are _exceptionally_ talented, and transfer to the flagship is usually considered advantageous. Yet you have failed to ask for it. Why is that?"

It _was_ about a possible transfer, _thanks the stars_ …

"Thank you, my lord, but I'm content where I am," he managed to reply.

"Is that so?" Lord Vader's deep voice had moved closer, to Luke's left. It sounded decidedly unimpressed. "One would not guess such modesty, looking at your promotion rate. You have risen through the ranks very quickly, for one of your age and background."

He remained in uneasy silence, unsure what he should say, or even if any answer was required. Why would the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleet, the second most powerful being in the whole galaxy, even _care_ about his carrier path?

Could this be a trap?

"Despite your achievements to date, you are _content_ ," Vader almost spat that world, "to remain at your current posting. I again ask why. And I would advise you not to lie to me _ever_ again."

The rumbling warning in that tone was all too clear. Luke swallowed. An answer. He needed an answer, and an honest one at that, or that dense cold radiating from Vader would become truly problematic, probably _lethal_ …

"I do wish to ascent through the ranks," he said. "I'm familiar with the prestige associated with serving under your command, my lord. I'm also familiar with the risks. Your crew roster has the highest turnabout rate of the whole fleet, and not all deaths are combat-related."

The silence that followed his explanation seemed even longer than the initial one and filled with infinitely more tension.

"Better, commander," that rich voice, coming now from behind him, seemed almost… amused. Or was Luke reading too much into the shifting currents in the air? "No lies this time. But that excuse, true and _insolent_ as it is, will not be a shield enough."

A hand suddenly closed on his arm and whirled him around, it's vice-like grip shocking him into obedience. Touch, no matter how impersonal, was _not_ something that happened in the grey saturated world of the Imperial Military.

He blinked rapidly, arrested by the heaviness of that hand now grasping his shoulder, by the loud, mechanical breathing so close to him. He had to crane his head back to gaze into that masked gaze, seeing only his own wide eyes staring back.

"You have your father's eyes, commander."

What-

How…?

"I wouldn't know, my lord," he croaked, his throat suddenly tight, sour resentment rising in his stomach, making his clenched jaw ache. So, it was _this_ again.

"No, you would not," Vader said, his whole being growing colder and menacing again.

The hand on his shoulder tightened before disappearing completely, leaving Luke standing stiffly as his superior marched to the conference table. One gesture of the gloved hand activated a computer terminal build into its surface, the data onscreen illuminating Vader's mask in ghost-like blue.

"You have claimed both your parents as 'unknown' on your Academy application," the Dark Lord stated after a glance down. "Yet, when questioned by the Imperial Security Bureau, you admitted that you were aware of your father's identity. Interesting inconsistency."

Luke closed his eyes for the briefest moment, forcibly relaxing his clenched fists.

"As I have explained to the Bureau’s agents," repeatedly and at length, he didn't add, "I'm an orphan from the Outer Rim, where documents of any kind are rare and generally regarded with suspicion. I don't have a birth certificate, my lord, nothing to prove my parentage. Not to the Imperial standards."

"Yet you know who your father is."

He frowned, looking at Vader intently. Why this insistency, this- almost _soft_ tone of that last probe?

Lord Vader's armoured form proved no clues, merely demanded answers.

"I know his name," he admitted reluctantly.

"This being?"

Luke swallowed, sensing something stirring in the air, like a sandstorm about to break, all electricity and gathering threat. He answered equally softly, very cautions now, aware that all this information must be in his files, on that computer screen…

"Anakin Skywalker."

The hiss of Vader's respirator was very loud, terribly inhuman, in the still, pale light filling the room.

"This name…" his enraged snarl almost masked the creaking of the chair's backrest under his clenched hands. "I know this name."

It took Luke a few moments to find his voice, all the answers and justifications he had long perfected sticking in his mouth, suddenly frightfully fragile and inconsequential in the face of the Dark Lord's fury.

"There's no possibility that it's the man you're thinking of, my lord," he offered, regardless. He swallowed, his pulse quick and loud in his ears. "I've never heard of him before the ISB interference, but weren't Jedi celibate? I find it very doubtful that a Jedi traitor from the Clone Wars had a secret son that had somehow ended up on Tatooine, of all places."

"Do you?" Vader finally let go of the chair and rounded the table, that dangerous energy around him making Luke's skin tingle unpleasantly, his sudden proximity intimidating on a whole new level. Luke barely restrained himself from stepping back.

"Just as I find it unlikely that he was related to a pair of moisture farmers, sir,” he nodded, choosing his words carefully. “My guardians raised me like their own, but Tatooine is a hard place to live, my lord. One does not take on a burden that can be avoided. They wouldn’t have taken me in if I wasn't related to them."

And maybe if they hadn’t, they would be able to afford a better living for themselves, better security, maybe the Tusken riders wouldn't have murdered them mere days after his departure, maybe-

"So, you suppose the name you two share to be a mere coincidence?" there was something… strange, in that question.

"It's a common name on Tatooine, my lord," he would have shrugged, was he talking to anyone else. "Especially among those of the slave descend."

And _that_ piece of information had always been enough to convince various security and intelligence officers that he was telling the truth. No one would ever believe that a war hero, even a traitorous one from the times of the corrupt Republic, could have ever been a slave. It had always been enough to remove him from the circle of possible dissenters, even if it also debased him in their eyes, lowered him to an insignificant bug, foolishly trying to leave its proper place.

Strangely enough, that was not Lord Vader's reaction _at all._

" _You_ are not a slave," he stated with absolute certainty, the intensity of his masked gaze almost frightening.

Why would he ask, why would he even _care?_ The Empire tolerated, even encouraged slavery, treating it as a natural state of the species lacking abilities to serve in any other way, as just another deterrent against mutineers and these lacking faith in the Empire’s right to exist, its _duty_ to provide control and security over the galaxy…

And Lord Vader was the one enforcing the Empire’s vision.

It _was_ a trap. It had to be, nothing else made _sense-­_

"No, sir," he said, forced past his too-tight throat. Show no fear, predators reacted to fear and he was _not_ a prey... "I’m not a slave. My mother must have been free."

Whoever she had been. Children always follow their mother.

Lord Vader remained silent for a long moment, merely looking at him, a peculiar tension hovering around them, something fragile that he couldn’t get a proper read on…

"She was," Lord Vader finally said. "She was the very definition of free. Even when it served her ill."

Luke’s breath caught in his throat, his pulse frantic now, _deafening-_ He _couldn’t_ have heard right-

"Her name was Padmé."

_Padmé._

_Yes_. That was right, that sounded, _felt_ right…

But- but that would mean that _Lord Vader_ had known her, or of her-

Why- _How?_

A sudden premonition shot through him, absurd and unfeasible and impossible to ignore. He took a trembling step back.

That black mask lowered to look into his eyes, his own shocked face reflected in the blank stare.

"Naboo Queen and later Senator, Padmé Amidala Naberrie," Lord Vader continued in the same quiet, almost reverential tone. "She was your mother."

Something was gathering in his throat, a shout or a cry, maybe a question, maybe denial, he didn’t know. He didn’t know, he _didn’t_ -

He swallowed with difficulty and forced a question past his frozen lips, even though he didn’t want to, didn’t want to know, but something in the air was buzzing, holding him captive and _it needed to be said-_

"And my father?"

Lord Vader took a step closer, his armoured bulk drafting Luke, his voice dark and layered when he replied, as something in Luke _knew_ he would:

" _I_ am your father."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no beta, all mistakes are mine.

"Lord Vader," he saluted smartly and stopped a few paces past the door, standing at uneasy attention, trying hard not to stare around. Lord Vader's personal quarters were… not what he had expected. Spacious and centrally located, but dark and almost empty, cold and somehow intimidating with their lack of personality… Or perhaps they were _exactly_ what he should have expected.

A few breathing circles passed in silence as his- his superior regarded him, hands clenched at his belt, near the dark, cylindrical shape that must have been his lightsaber.

"My admiral tells me that the crew transfer has proceeded without any major disruptions. I trust that you have used the last few days' respite wisely."

"Yes, my lord," he replied, a bit automatically.

He would not call moving, learning to operate on new equipment, supervising his pilots _and_ trying to hack a place for himself in the jealously guarded and insanely competitive power structures of naval officers 'a respite', exactly. Not to mention the paperwork. Stars, the paperwork…

Still, he had been grateful for the distraction.

"Good. Then it is time to begin your training."

Thought, it was apparently possible that he had been _too_ distracted.

"Training, my lord?"

"Yes," the dark shape turned and started to walk toward the inner door, obviously expecting Luke to follow. He did, trying to discretely wipe his sweaty palms on his uniform trousers.

"It is deplorable that you have been left with no teacher for so long," Vader continued, leading Luke deeper into a procession of his chambers, all shadowed and stark, the empty space echoing around them. "Your potential in the Force is vast and demands to be mastered."

"The Force, my lord?"

 _That_ got him a faint stirring in the air, the helmet half turning towards him before Vader marched on, Luke silently following him into a large, dimly lit room with a high ceiling, containing nothing but a few deactivated battle droids in one corner.

"This is my private duelling chamber, where you will practice under my supervision," Vader stated, the muted light highlighting the polished precision of his breathing mask. "There exists a second, concealed entrance, which I will show you before you leave. You are to always use it unless I explicitly state otherwise."

"Yes, my lord."

"Secrecy is of the utmost importance," the Dark Lord continued, his voice echoing ominously. "While the fact of your presence here is impossible to conceal, there is no need to give various spies more information than necessary."

Spies?

"I thought that the Rebel forces have been almost annihilated during the Battle of Yavin, my lord. Would they risk sending spies to _your_ flagship?" the question tumbled from his lips against his better judgement, but really, trying to spy on _Lord Vader_ seemed a height of idiocy. Unless one wanted to commit an assisted suicide.

Vader regarded him intently for a moment, his silence an almost visible admonition.

"The Rebels, while desperate, are not the only power at play. And far from the most dangerous one. Your training must, by necessity, be conducted here and further limited by our corresponding obligations. Therefore, I will expect you to apply yourself to it with utmost dedication."

He paused for a moment and Luke tried not to imagine all the numerous and painful ways in which he could be disciplined, should he somehow fail short of those expectations.

"In your free time, it would benefit you to work on your condition and strength. Your current fitness level is within the acceptable parameters, and the Force will aid you greatly, but lightsaber duels are more demanding than anything you have ever experienced. I won't have you neglecting the more physical side of your training."

"My lord," he managed to say into a pause in this steam of intimidating _, impossible_ plans for his future. "I appreciate the opportunity I'm given, I do, but don't you think it may be a bit… premature?"

Lord Vader stopped in his slow trek across the chamber and turned to him abruptly. Had he forgotten that Luke was standing right there? Or was he that unused to being questioned in any way?

"How so?"

Luke licked his lips and tried to find the right words.

"I admit that I know nothing about force, my lord. I've lived my whole life without any mystic power manifesting itself in any way. I'm not questioning its existence, sir," he hurried to add, as the tales of such fools' dismal fate had been circulating through the military for years now. "I'm just unsure why you seem convinced that _I_ would have any… aptitude for it."

"You are my son."

The surety in the Dark Lord's voice was clear and absolute, the relationship apparently a proof enough, as far as he was concerned. Never mind that he had provided no account for this… bizarre situation, hadn't truly explained _anything._ He was behaving as if their… blood link was a be-all and end-all of _everything_ , the path forward crystal clear.

Luke despised and envied that certainty.

"I'm just an ordinary human, my lord. Are such talents always hereditary?"

"Not necessarily," his- Lord Vader admitted after a few heartbeats. "But there can be no doubt that you have inherited my power and Force sensitivity. Even untrained as you are, you resonate strongly. And you are mistaken."

Luke blinked, more than a bit lost.

"My lord?"

"The Force is _not_ some mystic power. It is the most natural fact of life, all-present and enduring, binding the universe together. You have, in fact, been sensing it, even using it to a small extent, crude as your attempts were."

"I don't-"

"Do you truly believe that your quick promotion rate is a mere coincidence?" the tilt of that darkly gleaming helmet was decidedly sarcastic. "You _are_ a good pilot. Impossibly good. Your performance shows skills of someone with decades of experience, or using a more advantaged technology, or simply not human. Ordinary humans don’t have reflexes that fast."

"It's just instincts, sir, I don't-"

"Nor can ordinary humans sense the currents in the Force to gauge other's emotions and adjust their own responses, as you have been doing. Nor can they avoid unseen projectiles."

What-

Something hit his shoulder, hard, then there was pain in his back, his left arm- He whirled around in time to see another- were those spare droid parts? Small but very heavy pieces of metal and durasteel, just _flying_ at him? Another hit his tight, then his back again, he spun again but not fast enough- They just _kept coming_ , with no possible cause, no weapon that he could see, no shooter, unless _Vader-_

Another hit in his elbow, that _kriffing_ hurt! Was Vader doing that, somehow? _How_? Pain in his side, in his left shoulder blade, a hard hit in the middle of his back _again-_ Why, what did Vader hope to- A damned hard hit into his spine, kriffing- They were coming from all around him, too many to avoid, too quick for him to see-

Another hit into the back of his right knee and he went down, crashing, kneeling before Vader, unable to move, and another one was coming, aiming right at the back of his head, Vader was going to _kill him-_

He ducked. The projectile missed him by millimetres.

Abruptly, all went still and quiet. The droid parts stopped flying, _finally,_ stopped battering him, now lying innocently around him on the floor. Only his harsh breathing disturbed the sudden hush.

He stared up at Vader, stunned.

"You, my son, are by no means _ordinary._ "


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for leaving kudos and comments, you keep me going! Have another chapter. Still no beta, all mistakes are mine.

"Wing Commander Skywalker."

"Captain Piett."

Luke saluted and took a seat among other officers, taking in their number and the curiosity thick in the air. No wonder: the briefings before commencing a new tour of duty were usually- _always_ handed on a smaller scale, every wing listening to their immediate superior officer, _not_ this ship-wide meeting called by the flagship captain himself.

Whatever the reason was, Luke had a bad feeling about this.

 _Control your thoughts,_ a voice echoed in his memory, and he bit back a grimace. His back was still smarting, dark bruises thankfully covered by his uniform. _Control your thoughts, control your emotions, or they will control you. Betray you. Some emotions are useful, anger gives your strength, wrath gives you momentum, but if you cannot control them, they will control you._

_Control your emotions, shield your presence, or become easy prey for these stronger than you._

Easy for his- his teacher to say, Luke mused privately, behind layers and layers of shields, each as strong as he could make it, and more rising every day, during every meditation session. Lord Vader did not seem to have any emotions _other_ than anger, and as the strongest ‘predator’ out there, he could do as he pleased. Strangling some officers and arranging other officers’ lives as he saw fit included.

Luke smiled privately to himself. At least he had managed to stay out of the ‘strangled’ category, so far.

“Gentlemen,” a voice cut through the murmur in the meeting hall, and it fell dead silent immediately. Luke forcefully refocused on the here and now and turned his eyes towards Captain Piett.

“Gentlemen,” Piett began, hands clasped behind his back. “As you are no doubt aware, we are about to embark on a prolonged tour of duty at the head of the Death Squadron. You will receive detailed instructions from your corresponding commanding officers in due time, but I wish to take this opportunity to make one thing clear: this is _not_ going to be our typical run.”

Luke stilled, a strange buzzing ringing in his ears, down his fingertips, the- the Force, he supposed, calling out in… an excitement? A warning?

“We have spent the last few years hunting rebel scum through the galaxy,” Piett continued calmly. “We’ve pursued their main forces in the Outer Rim, we have fought battles in the Inner Rim, we have stopped those terrorists’ attacks in the Colonies and Core worlds. We have never lost a battle, never hesitated, never backed down.”

A small murmur of congratulatory remarks filled the air, the self-satisfaction thick in the air. Luke kept his eyes trained at the _Executor’s_ Captain.

Piett allowed the men their nods and quiet smirks, looking at them with pale, dispassionate eyes.

“Yes, we have a string of victories under our belt,” he finally said. “And yet we have lost one million, one hundred eighty-six thousand and six hundred men in a single instant.”

A deadly silence fell over the room.

“The destruction of the Death Star was a blow to all of us,” Piett continued quietly. “We all lost friends and comrades in that cowardly attack. We had had to suffer seeing our Empire brought low. And the guilty have not yet been brought to justice.”

Luke did not move a muscle.

“Our task now is to find the terrorists responsible. To drag them into the light and force them to face their crimes. To this end, we will soon be leaving our usual route and devolving deep into the Outer Rim, where our intelligence has placed remaining Rebel forces. It is impossible to know how many there are, or where they will run; we might be forced to venture into the Wild Space, perhaps even further. One thing is certain: we shall be gone a long time, perhaps as long as a full year. Perhaps more.”

Quickly muffed whispers met this announcement, the officers throwing each other unhappy glances. Luke didn’t blame them: a standard tour of duty lasted between three to four months, with frequent one-day leaves in Imperial ports when the star destroyers had to gather supplies and refuel. A year of constant service, with the mandated radio silence, at the very edges of civilisation, sounded… extreme.

“This is why,” Piett continued unperturbed, “you have all been granted three days leave before our departure. The whole crew will be able to leave on a strictly maintained rotation, no more than twenty per cent of our men absent at one time. Your CO will give you the relevant details. Take this time to see your families, gentlemen, and say your goodbyes. We have a long journey ahead of us if we wish to punish these mass murderers.”

Luke swallowed, the tingle in his fingertips intensifying, burning, the Force hissing along his hands, under his skin... He flexed his hands into fists, hard, the bite of fingernails into his palm giving him the clarity needed to exert control and banish the fear clouding his vision.

Captain Piett sent them one last, long look.

“Dismissed.”

Luke was slow getting up, slow on his way back to his quarters. He forcibly focused on his duties, the next step he would have to take, on the _future._ He would have to find his CO and get more info from him, then brief his wing, answer any questions… And listen to complains.

Kallon would bitch and moan about the long absence, about his kids forgetting their old man’s face, his oldest just turned three, apparently they didn’t remember things well at that age… And Ghillan would be silent and grave and then get roaring drunk, worrying about his baby sister, only three years younger but always a kid in his mind… And Dinna’r, he would be especially vocal, he and Mari’nna were planning to get married in about six months, as soon as she finished her apprenticeship… Well, nothing for it, they would have to postpone it. Postpone and hope like hell that Dinna’r makes it back home.

Luke would be silent, as always. He had no one waiting for him.

“Wing Commander Skywalker.”

He started, turning around and throwing out a quick salute.

“Captain Piett.”

What the hell…?

“I was asked to inform you that you will not be able to take advantage of the planned leave,” the captain of the _Executioner_ said calmly, and how in the stars did he even know Luke’s name? Luke was a new transfer, a nobody on a ship _this_ big, and who would bother with him, they had _no reason_ to restrict his movements-

 _Oh._ Of course.

Who _else_ would organise his life?

“Yes, sir,” he said, suddenly wondering _what_ Piett knew, what he suspected. He couldn’t _know_ , not after all those dire warnings about secrecy and spies and importance of shielding that Lord Vader had hurled at Luke, but if he had been told to pass that order he would have _some_ suspicions…

Piett sent him a long look.

“You are expected to report to the aft fitness room, instead,” he said at length.

“The aft fitness room,” Luke repeated.

Lord Vader _couldn’t_ have told him- Piett seemed loyal, yes, and competent, yes, but _this-_

This was supposed to be just between Luke and his- teacher.

“I understand that you are expected for your training,” Piett said, his own voice carefully neutral. “Lord Vader was most adamant about it.”

… Vader _had_ told him.

Luke nodded, his eyes unfocused, his movements automatic. There was a strange, cold bitterness blooming on his tongue, behind his ribs. So much for secrecy, for-

But it had been stupid, to expect anything else. _He_ had been stupid.

The strongest predator could do as he wished, after all. Luke would have to remember that.

He nodded again.

“Yes, sir.”


End file.
